


Not Tonight

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), This is so soft, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:38:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Crowley thinks about The Fall, His Fall.





	Not Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Mentioned Beelzebub that wasn't exactly worth putting in the tags

Crowley sighs as he threads a hand through his wings. The question Beelzebub had asked him so long ago. It still rung in his head, ringing again and again and again and…. 

 

_ “You were the first to fall,” _ she recounts, eyes glancing to the other,  _ “and the worst case. What did it feel like?...” _

 

It wasn’t an innocent question. She knew it was still far from a good topic with the man, but she had asked anyway. 

 

_ “Demons are like that, I suppose,” _ Aziraphale had commented at one point. That had been long ago, too. 

 

How old was he now? Six thousand? That’s how long he’d known that he had to save the world  _ (or end it) _ which was conveniently since the beginning of his creation  _ (and fall) _ so he concluded that, yes, it was roughly six thousand years now, maybe more. He knew if he asked Aziraphale, the angel would easily know. He always knew dates, somehow. Crowley wasn’t sure how. He forgot dates easily. 

 

His mind churns the question around his head. The two had lots of free time now. Aziraphale may have had his own home, yes, but he often kept himself cooped up in Crowley’s corner when he wasn’t in the bookstore. He had even brought a few books back to the flat. They sat on the bookshelf Crowley had brought in just a few hours before Aziraphale decided to come and stay for the first time. He’d never admit it, but he had a feeling the angel knew anyway. 

 

“What’s on your mind, Crowley,” the mentioned angel asks from his spot across the room, a cup of cocoa in his hand, still warm. He doesn’t look up from his book. 

 

The two held such a domestic scene in front of them, the two on their own side now. They weren’t paired with Heaven, weren’t paired with Hell. They were just on the neutral setting of  _ I won’t destroy the world because I’m one of the idiots that lives there _ sort of stand, just like Adam and the few that had proclaimed themselves the same. They were so used to each other’s company despite the years they had been separated or the  _ \-- very few -- _ fights they had had. 

 

“Thinking about the Fall,” he supplies, hands gesturing to himself as he corrects himself,  _ “My _ Fall.” 

 

Aziraphale closes his book, a brow raised as he asks, “Oh?” 

 

It just still just as sensitive of a topic as it had been when it first happened, if not more so now. He could always play it off, sure, but Aziraphale noticed the way it always seemed to sting and the taller seemed to be somewhat more closed off than he had been before the question at hand was asked. He would be snappier, too, parting ways or going to bed much earlier than that was typical. It always pried concern from his chest but he knew better than to ask about it. 

 

Crowley doesn’t comment as the other stands up, moving from his spot on one of the armchairs to the couch beside him where he’s strewn about. Instead, he lets the other sit on the arm of the couch, stroking his fingers through his hair. “I know you’ve never really wanted to talk about it, but I’m always here if you’d like to.” 

 

Crowley leans into the touch, frowning. His wings tuck halfheartedly, relaxing as the other continues on. He remembers the heat and the anger he felt from their dear Creator. He had been the first to correct the wrong and he had suffered from it. His eyes kept their yellow tint, pupils now slits instead of dots. It was a permanent reminder of his  _ “faults.” _ How dare he try to give humans a benefit, right? 

 

The angel silently dotes the other, not minding the quiet,  _ “Not tonight,” _ he gets as a reply. It could have been far worse. He could have been told to fuck off, could have been pushed off the couch, could have been kicked out. Instead, he tentatively wipes the other’s eyes of the few tears that had fallen from him. He presses a gentle kiss to his forehead, white wings coaxed around black clothing. It’s calm, despite the raging storm that will knowingly happen. 

 

But not tonight. 

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom, yeet. They're great. Also, Pollution is cool as fuck, too, and I love her. 
> 
> Please leave reviews! Comments are greatly appreciated and inspire me to write more for this fandom! 
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